Burning the Midnight Oil
by BitterEloquence
Summary: G1: In the midnight hours, certain Autobots are awake and finding ways to get through the night.


When Prowl had first come to this planet, his initial thoughts had been rather dire and grim. The instability of life on Earth had played merry hell with Prowl's logic centers. On Cybertron, he didn't have to worry about how grit and grime could built up in your driveshaft and make walking or driving excruciating. Nor had he worried about random avian waste products dropping on his shoulder whenever he was outside. It was the sheer dirtiness of the planet that had overwhelmed the tactician at first and Prowl had been hard-pressed to find anything positive about Earth.

Certain mech's like Jazz had no problems with immersing himself in the local culture. The saboteur melted into the human crowds as if he'd been sparked here. An enviable and invaluable trait. Other members of the crew had found the rough and wild terrain to be endlessly captivating. These days it nearly took a direct order to get Hound or Trailbreaker to return to base.

And then there was Prowl. Good ol' stick-up-the-aft Prowl. He did not take to Earth as quickly as some of his fellow Autobots did. In all honesty, he'd had serious doubts about their new home. At least back on Cybertron Prowl had other mechs that knew how to hold a decent conversation. Take Magnus for example. He even knew how to play a mean game of strategy. Prowl missed him to a certain extent.

Who else could share his muted excitement about military tactics during the first war? Prowl's limited emotional range and rather charm-less attitudes often kept him from forming real bonds making friends in the Autobots.

The only ones Prowl found who shared his fascination with military history on the Ark had been Optimus and Ironhide. Prime because learning and studying military tactics came second nature to him and Ironhide because he'd actually lived through the last wars.

Sufficing to say, things had started out rough for Prowl. Millions of years separated from his home and planet, the mech had resigned himself to dour existence. But then, he had met a rather unique human. A creature unlike any other human Prowl had ever encountered. A human called Chip Chase.

"Hey, Prowler, burning the midnight oil again?"

Prowl's optics rose from the computer screen he'd been staring at intently. "Jazz, how many times must I ask you to not use that ridiculous name?" He even managed a put upon expression. Ever since Jazz had found what the translated Hungarian name for the Datsun meant, the spy teased Prowl with it at every opportunity.

"At least fifty but I ain't countin'?" Jazz grinned unrepentantly and leaned against the doorframe of Prowl's office with feigned laziness. Someone else may have been fooled by the saboteur's lackadaisical attitude but Prowl knew better. Jazz had the unassuming air of a predator that had caught sight of a nice, juicy snack. Or in this case, a target for his rather zany amusement factors.

"Did you need something?" The Datsun asked with a severe expression. He refused to get into a verbal spar with Jazz; the damned mech always seemed to come out on top. So instead, Prowl pretended to ignore Jazz's playful baiting and kept to the business at hand.

"Nothin' just checkin' to see if ya were alright. You were glarin' at that screen hot enough to melt metal."

"I was not," Unwittingly, Prowl's optic ridges drew together in a scowl. "I'm just finishing up some reports is all." Now it was Prowl's turn to look predatory. "Speaking of which, I am still waiting on your weekly Special Ops report. I really don't see how difficult it is to prepare one measly report a week, Jazz. It's not like I'm asking for much, just an idea of how things are faring so I can inform Prime on the status of your squad." He paused then to give Jazz a unwavering stare. "When you don't do your job, it prevents me from doing my job. Because then I have to go before Optimus and tell him why I don't have a report from you. Then he and I will have to come ask you why Special Ops is the only squad that can't turn their reports in on time."

Jazz's visor dimmed at the very mention of 'reports' and started backing out of Prowl's office when the second in command began his triad. "Eh heh. No needta disturb Optimus, I'll have it on yer desk by tomorrow!"

And with that, Prowl smiled a benign little smile that could not mask the flash of triumph in Prowl's optics as he strong-armed Jazz into turning in his reports on time for once. "Thank you, I'm sure it'll be here on my desk before 1800 hours, right?" His voice was so mild. It was hard to imagine Prowl was playing Jazz like a fiddle now that he'd gotten the upper hand in the argument.

Jazz seemed to realize he'd been had and he granted Prowl a rueful smile. "Anyone ever tell ya that you woulda made one mean interrogator? Jeeze." But the saboteur took it all with his typical good nature and even snapped of a sharp (if slightly sarcastic) salute. "Anything else you want, o'tireless-dictator-of-the dreaded-paperwork?"

"I learned from the best." There was something alarmingly similar to humor that glinted in Prowl's optics as he continued to smile up at Jazz. "Good night, Jazz. Try not to stay up too late." And with that last jab, Prowl turned his attention back to the screen.

The Porsche snorted with wry amusement and walked down the hall all the while shaking his head. For the life of him, he didn't know where Prowl had come up with such an under-handed tactic. He never would have thought that stiff by-the-book Prowl could come up with the idea of tattling to Prime just to get Jazz to do his weekly reports. By the pit it almost brought a warm feeling of pride to Jazz's spark when he realized how much of a bad influence he'd become to the second in command. That was almost worth writing up the tedious reports in the first place!

Once Prowl was certain Jazz was well and truly gone, he turned his attention back to the screen and engaged his mic once more. "Sorry about that, Chip"

Over the link, the human laughed good-naturedly and moved a chess piece across the screen. The idea that Prowl stayed up late into the night to play chess would have shocked a lot of Autobots. Yet here he found himself night after night enjoying the challenge of another sharp and logical mind. Even if it had to come in form of a human of all things. "It's okay, Prowl. I know how busy you are. If you want we can continue this tomorrow." Chip offered.

"No!" Prowl said a tad too emphatically and winced to himself at his outburst. Backtracking quickly, Prowl busied himself with moving his knight to a place where he could capture Chip's rook if he so chose. "I mean, if it's getting late for you then that's alright. I know how frail human bodies can get when they don't have the proscribed amount of sleep." While Prowl's words were solemn, there was no denying the arch tone of his voice. Good-natured ribbing and trash talk just went hand in hand with their nightly rituals. Another thing that would have surprised his fellow Autobots; Prowl wasn't supposed to have a sense of humor. "We wouldn't want you tiring yourself…"

"Ha! You're just afraid I'm going to outsmart you again."

Prowl leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. Chip never let him live down the few times the human's unexpected tactics got the better of Prowl's battle computer. Somehow, the human had learned to develop moves and strategies while constantly on the move away from Prowl's stronger and more classic tactics.

While the Autobot had a more sophisticated logic center and battle computer, Chip had a better imagination than Prowl. So it sort of balanced out in the end. Not that Prowl would ever let the human know that. "Whatever, Chip, just move already. I would hate to have to start timing you."

"Ha, that's rich Mr.-I-freeze-for-half-an-hour-because-my-logic-centers-crashed." Chip grinned on his side of the connection as the human and mech continued to verbally spar.

By Primus he still hadn't let Prowl forget that terrible night when Chip hastily contacted the Autobots thinking he had broken Prowl. It had been a harrowing night for the poor human because he'd been afraid he'd broken his closest Autobot friend.

Continuing with the good-natured smack talk and game, the minutes bled into hours and before they knew it, Teletraan chimed two a.m. Eventually, Prowl had won that particular game but there was no denying that Chip had out insulted him throughout the entire affair.

Thus another uneventful night on the Ark passed. And perhaps two lonely and isolated individuals found some companionship that stretched beyond the restrictions of flesh and metal.


End file.
